


all i know is a simple name (and everything has changed)

by prophecygurl



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Fluff, but maybe like peaches instead of cotton candy, fluff by my personal standards at least, like it's not tooth-rotting stuff, u all feel me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23251024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prophecygurl/pseuds/prophecygurl
Summary: Drunk Bellamy tries to dial the number for a psychic and gets Clarke instead. Her predictions are surprisingly accurate.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 9
Kudos: 85





	all i know is a simple name (and everything has changed)

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a hot minute but I thiiiink this was originally inspired by a thought train I went on while watching Clairevoyant. My original idea for this was veryyyy different, but I'll save that for the end notes so I don't spoil anything. Shout out to [Alex](https://queenginnys.tumblr.com/) for inspiring several of the changes and for beta reading this thing. You guys have NO IDEA how much of a mess this was before she got her hands on it.
> 
> tw/cw for conversations about suicide, hospitals, and grief. _no one is suicidal in this_ , they're just talking about mental health.

_If you are gonna pretend to be a psychic,  
I'm pretty sure the first rule is don't tell people  
they're gonna fuckin' die. _

— Claire Ganski

Bellamy knows that psychics aren’t real. He _knows_ it. And he’s not generally a superstitious person, but...let’s be honest. He’s feeling pretty desperate.

 _Okay_ , Bellamy thought. _It’s not stupid if it makes you feel better. No one ever has to know anyway. Just...dial the number._

Someone picks up on the second ring. “Hello?” _Damn, that was fast._

“Hello, is this Madam Vivian? I have a very important question for you please!” His words come out garbled and rushed, and he holds his breath as he waits for a reply..”

“No, this is Clarke. What is your name?”

“I’m Bellamy and I need to know if my sister is going to be alright, I’m very worried about her!” ”

“Okay just— calm down. What’s wrong with your sister? Is she hurt?”

“No, she’s not she left for college and now she’s all alone on the other side of town and not here safe in her bed anymore where I can watch over her. Sorry for freaking out, Madam Vivian.”

“My name is Clarke, actually. I don’t know who Vivian is. Is she a friend of yours?”

“She’s a psychic. I saw her number on the side of a bus and that’s why I called you—so you can tell me that my sister is going to be okay... And also maybe if I’m going to get a raise at work because that would be a very big help to me at the moment if I’m being _totally_ honest.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. I’m not a psychic. I don’t know your sister, but if you’re just worried about her starting college, she’ll probably be okay. ”

“I don’t know about that Clara, okay! She’s never lived with anyone but me and our mother before she died and now she lives with a _stranger_. Her roommate has a pierced eyebrow, she’s possibly an axe murderer! Maybe. I do not feel good about this. Not good at all, Clara.”

“College is a big adjustment. It can be hard when a family member moves away. If it makes you feel better, my freshman year roommate had a pierced navel and she was definitely not an axe murderer.”

“How do you know that? Are you _absolutely certain_?”

“Well, I’m still alive. I feel like that’s a pretty solid indication.”

“That is a pretty good point…” he admits. “But you see Claire, I am still concerned about her. She’s my sister! I mean, what if something _bad_ happens to her and I’m not there?”

“I think you just have to trust that your sister will know to call you if she needs your help. You said your mom died? Would you like to talk about that?”

“Oh,” he pauses, uncertain. What’s this woman’s name again? “Yeah, I mean... that was a very long time ago. Octavia was only twelve, I was nineteen. It was just us for so long and now she’s gone. I don’t really know what to do with myself.” He hiccups.

“Octavia is your sister?”

“Yes, that's right. I named her myself, Cleo. After Augustus’ sister. Does that make me Augustus?” He could hear her trying to stifle a giggle.

“That’s a very unique name. Bellamy, have you been drinking tonight?”

“Yes I have! Miller took me to a bar and that’s where I saw the bus and then he brought me home and I called you. You have a very nice voice, Claire. I feel a lot better now.”

“My name is Clarke, actually, and I’m very happy I could help you. And thanks.”

“Okay, wait, so about my raise, this is very important! Not as important as my baby sister but I would like more money so I can finally start travelling — what do you think, Chloe, is it in the cards?”

“Umm...well, I don’t know. Where do you work?

“I am a librarian, I take care of the books.”

“That’s a really important job, Bellamy. How long have you been doing that?”

“Maybe like three years? I want to go to Greece.”

“I’ve been to Greece, actually. It’s beautiful. I hope you get to go.”

“Yes me too as well. So. What do you think, Vivian, am I getting that raise?”

“Okay, sure. Madam Clarke predicts you will receive a raise,” she giggles.

“That is absolutely excellent Clarke — that is stupendous! Thank you so much, this has been very helpful. .” He moves to hang up, nearly dropping his phone in the process, before Clarke’s voice halts him from the other end of the line.

“Bellamy, before you go — I’m not really supposed to do this, but I’d like to give you my number, just to make sure you’re okay. Would you call me tomorrow, please?”

“Yes I can do that, I think so.”

“Good, thank you.” Clarke gives him her number, making sure he saves both it and a notification on his phone to call her the following evening.

After hanging up, Bellamy quickly drifts off to sleep on his kitchen floor, feeling more at peace than he has in awhile.

* * *

Unfortunately, the next morning is not as peaceful. Bellamy, expectantly, wakes up with a monster of a hangover and a sore neck from sleeping curled up on the floor. He goes to work aching and still a little fuzzy on exactly how his night went, but the day drastically improves once his boss pulls Bellamy into his office with good news: Kane is approving his raise! _One step closer,_ he thinks to himself.

Later that evening, while he’s making dinner, his phone dings.

_Call Clarisska!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

“What?” he whispers, confused. He definitely doesn’t know anyone named Clarisska. _I must have met her last night at the bar,_ he realizes. _I better call and let her down easy or something_. It was bad enough he had no memory of this girl whatsoever. 

Bellamy scrolls through his contacts. No Clarisska or Clarissa, but there is an unfamiliar number under the name ‘Claire De Lune’ that seems promising. _Geez, how drunk was I?_

He dials the number.

“Bellamy?”

“Hi, is this... _Claire_?”

The girl on the other side of the line giggles. “Actually, it’s Clarke. Are you feeling better today? I’ve been a little worried.”

After hearing the girl’s voice, his memories of the previous night’s conversation come rushing back. _Oh god._

“Wow, I am so sorry. This is so embarrassing. I really shouldn’t have unloaded on you like that.”

She laughs again. “It’s okay. It’s kind of my job. Well, I’m a volunteer, but still. I do it to help.”

“They have volunteer psychics?” He furrows his brow and squints at the ceiling. “That’s not exactly charity work. You should definitely be getting paid for that.”

Clarke huffs out another laugh, the line going fuzzy with it as her breath gusts over the mic. 

“I’m not a volunteer psychic,” she tries to explain. She’s still laughing at him, which — _rude!_. “I was working at a suicide hotline last night when you called. I thought you were depressed.”

“Oh...oh my god! I’m so sorry. I’m fine, I promise,” he says, trying to reassure her as she continues to giggle. Clearly she needs it. “I’m not suicidal, I swear.”

“No, I get that now,” she replies, with the clear hint of a smile in her voice.

“Well, this is embarrassing. And wow, I’m really sorry for hogging the phone for so long.”

“It’s fine. You were kind of a nice change of pace on a slow night. The girl at the table across from me was scrolling around aimlessly on her phone the entire time we were talking, so no worries.”

“I’m psychic, remember?”

Bellamy lets out a half-suppressed laugh. “Hey, you might be. I got that raise at work.”

“Oh, congratulations!” she replies enthusiastically. “Wow. Maybe we’ve discovered a new career path for me,” she jokes, just a hint of sincerity in her voice.

“Very funny. I’m sure your current career path stands up to comparison. And probably has the added advantage of being real,” he snorts.

“Not really, considering it’s currently non-existent.”

He has to wince at that. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive.”

“No. Please. Do not feel sorry for me. I’m fine, I’m just...going through a bit of an aimless phase at the moment.”

“Well, it must be tough being between jobs.”

“Yeah...I mean, it’s boring. But I’m fine. Financially, at least. I have a trust fund so really, I deserve no one’s pity.”

“Well in that case I revoke my previously misplaced concern.”

“Thanks,” she replies with a smile. 

“So, what exactly do trust fund kids do with all that leisure time? I’ve never actually known one of your kind before.”

“Well, I can’t speak for my entire species, but personally I like to traipse around the mansion in my gauzy, hot pink, fur trimmed robe and high heels, sipping martinis and sighing wistfully. You know, regular person stuff. I’m super relatable.”

“Oh yeah, I can totally relate to that,” he smiles. When Clarke replies, he can hear her smiling too.

“However, when I’m not busy reenacting scenes from _Sunset Boulevard_ , I like to paint.”

“And volunteer at suicide hotlines?”

“Yes.”

“How exactly did you get started with that?”

“Well…” She hesitates.

“Sorry, you don’t have to answer that. If it’s too personal, I mean. I’m just some random guy cutting into your martini time,” he adds, attempting to lighten the mood.

“No, it’s fine,” she responds, letting out a breath. “It’s just...most people don’t like hearing the story. It’s kind of depressing.”

“Well, you’re in luck. I’m not most people,” he reassures her. “Look, everything you said last night, it really did help me. I’ve felt a lot better about everything since talking to you. If you want to tell me your sob story, I’ll listen.”

“I bet you’re the mom friend, aren’t you??”She jibes. 

“......no comment.”

“Ha! That’s a yes,” she replies with a small laugh. “Don’t worry, I am too. But I don’t mind talking about it. Basically, my dad died when I was thirteen. We were really close and I was pretty shaken up by it. My mom was too. She’s a doctor and I think she blames herself for not being able to save him.”

“What happened?”

“He got an infection. He was an engineer, spent most of his time in a workshop, but he liked to spend a lot of his off-time outdoors. We’d all gone on this camping trip together, and my dad cut himself on a rock while we were swimming in the river. My mom wanted to get it checked out, but dad insisted he was fine. 

“A few days later, once we were back home, it wasn’t healing and it had started to look pretty bad, so my mom finally convinced him to go to the hospital. It was bad enough that they admitted him and...things got worse after that. My Mom kept pretty cool, saying everything would be fine, but I think that was mostly for me — looking back, I know she must have been losing her mind. But, he did get better for a while. Just long enough for us to get our hopes up. A lot of people with his condition die and his doctor made it clear that his road to recovery was going to be long, probably more than a year,” she takes a deep breath, and Bellamy waits patiently for her to steady herself, “but then he got sick again. He caught pneumonia in the hospital — which, at the time sounded like a crazy way to die to me. I’d had pneumonia a couple of times when I was a kid, I was even in the hospital with it once, but no one made it seem like a big deal. I mean, people brought me balloons and stuffed animals and my parents watched _The Little Mermaid_ with me on one of those old, mounted tvs for three days straight. But, according to my Mom, catching anything in the hospital makes it worse and more resistant to treatment. And since my Dad’s body was already weak from the infection, the pneumonia killed him after just a week.”

“Wow. That’s rough. I’m so sorry.” Bellamy feels a little lost for words in the wake of her story.

“Thanks,” she breathes out, unevenly. “After that I just kind of...shut down for a while. I was really depressed. I’d spend hours after I’d woken up just laying in bed, crying or staring at the walls. I snapped at everyone, all the time, especially if they were being nice to me or trying to help. I started skipping school and stopped paying attention and doing my work when I was there. My mom was trying so hard to help me and I was such a bitch to her. To everyone, really. Eventually she realized I needed more help than she could give me on her own, even as a doctor. She forced me to see a therapist and I was so angry at her for that. But once I stopped being so stubborn and resistant, it really helped.”

“And that’s why you volunteer at the hotline? To help other people?”

“Mhm. Do you remember how I said I like to paint?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I’ve always loved to draw, even when I was little. My Dad always loved my art, always encouraged me to keep making it. He told me that people who create things with their hands are the happiest people.” The memory made her smile. “Before he died it was really just an important hobby to me. Something I did for fun that made me happy. But after his death I could barely find it in me to pick up a pencil. I pretty much gave it up until therapy. I mentioned it one day and my therapist suggested I try art therapy. They had a group program that met twice a week at this counseling center she recommended. I loved it. I got back into art, and really into painting for the first time.”

“Wow. That’s really great Clarke,” he tells her, with all the sincerity in the world. “I’m really glad you found something that helps.”

“Yeah, I’m lucky. Not everyone does. That’s why I volunteer at the hotline. I don’t want anyone going through life thinking no one cares about them. And...so many people don’t really want to kill themselves, you know? Most of the time they just need someone to talk to. It always looks so dramatic and awful in movies but most of the time it’s just people at their wit’s end getting so bogged down in their own thoughts that they need someone to reassure them that everything is going to be okay and remind them that the world isn’t as small as it feels. I mean, the world is huge and in the grand scheme of things, the moments that seem so big and scary are really just a blip on the radar. They need someone to get them from this one awful moment to the next, where they can breathe and maybe they’re ready to start healing. Sometimes all a person needs is to feel cared for and heard. It can be more complicated than that, but not always. I just...want to feel like I’ve made a difference in the world.”

“I think you are. I’m sure you’ve helped a lot of people. You helped me.”

“Yeah, but at the end of the day I just spend most of my time painting, hanging out with my friends, and binge watching shows on hulu. I’m basically the world’s most boring trust fund kid.”

“So what? If you really want to do something more then just go and do it. You’ve got money. Can’t rich people just do whatever they want?”

That made her laugh a little. “I could. And I fully plan to...just as soon as I figure out what it is I want to do. It’s pretty much the reason I’m this old and I’ve never been to college. It seemed like a waste to go before I had my shit figured out. My mom wanted me to go to medical school and become a doctor like her. Still wants me to, actually.”

“But that’s not what you wanted?”

“It was, at one point. I don’t know, it might still be. That was always the plan. When I was a kid I thought my mom had the best job in the world. She saves peoples’ lives and she gets to cut people open and see what’s inside.”

“When you were a kid?” he asks, kind of grossed out. “You weren’t scared by that kind of thing?”

“No way. I thought it was awesome.”

“You were that kid in Biology class who couldn’t wait to cut the frog open, weren’t you?” he guesses.

“No comment,” she replies, with a breathy laugh.

He laughs too. “Fair enough.”

“What about you?” she asks. “Did you always want to be a librarian?”

“Well, there was a brief phase where I had dreams of opening my own hot dog restaurant, but I was six, so the dream died pretty quickly,” he laughs.

“Just hot dogs? Nothing else?”

“Hot dogs, ice cream, and Kraft macaroni and cheese. You know, all the staples.”

“Oh, of course,” she giggles.

“I love my job, honestly. I’m basically a professional nerd.”

“Well in that case, I’ll have to come by sometime and see you in action. You know, if that’s something you’d be into.”

“Well, it’s a public library. It’s open to the public,” he chokes out, face burning at the implication.

“Oh. Right. Obviously. I just meant...I didn’t want to be weird and just show up where you work.”

“It wouldn’t be weird!” he blurts out. “I mean...that would be cool. You could come by,” he recovers quickly. “You _should_ come by. There’s a lot of cool...books.” _There’s a lot of cool books. Smooth._

“I would imagine. It being a library and all,” she laughs.

“What I mean is...I would like it. If you wanted to come by.”

“I’d like that too,” she replies, with a clear smile in her voice.

“Cool,” he responda, equally excited.

“And then we could go on a date afterwards.”

Her response is so blunt it makes him pause for a moment. “Yeah! Oh my god, we could definitely do that. That would be great!” He’s definitely coming across a little flustered but sue him; a sweet, cool girl is asking him out. It’s a good day.

“Cool,” she replies once more. “I’m looking forward to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> so the original idea i had when i sat down to write this was bellamy trying to drunk dial a psychic network from a phone number he saw on the side of a bus and getting clarke instead (at home), who is an _actual_ psychic. but then i was trying to decide on a day job for clarke and posted about in the cgds discord and alex suggested 'trust fund kid who just lives life' as well as suicide hotline volunteer and i immediately reworked the entire concept in my head and here we are.
> 
> also **_a lot_** of this fic pulls from my real life. jake's death in this is very similar to how my own mother died. we never went on a camping trip but she did die after catching pneumonia in the hospital while being treated for a flesh eating bacterial infection. I didn't deal with my grief the same way clarke does, but i was older than she is. all of clarke's feelings about mental health and helping people are based on my own. also i really wanted to be a librarian. its basically my dream job, _le sigh_.
> 
> as always, constructive feedback and unwavering praise are always appreciated 🙃 as is incoherent screaming into the void. come scream at me at [braveprincess](http://braveprincess.tumblr.com).


End file.
